Steel Hearts
by A Pencil in her hand
Summary: A pirate prince, cursed from birth, his name stolen as punishment for a murder he did not commit and an orphaned girl trapped in a world that did not welcome her values, have their lives overturned when they are tossed together by the sea. Inspired by the quote: 'Kiss your lover, dance a measure, find your name and buried treasure.'
1. Chapter 1

**(A N)**

**Dedicated to quinnyandcompany for being amazing, and hilarious, and my wonderful supportive friend. Always. :)**

-Crash!

"Man overboard!" Came a cry from the sea drenched deck of _The Jade Serpent._

Captain Arthur Trent's heart raced along with his body as he skidded across the slick, rain- battered ship, and frantically scanned the sea for survivors. "Who went overboard?" He shouted at his men above a cacophony of thunder. A brilliant flash of lightning lit up the ship, and he could see the terror on their weather-beaten faces.

"We're not going to make it, Captain- we're taking on water!"

The men cared little for the poor fellow who had just lost his life- out on the merciless ocean, it was every man for himself.

A strong hand clamped itself down on Arthur's shoulder. He spun around, and stared into the dark features of his first mate. "Vikram-?"

Before he could say more, a blast of white hot energy hit the mast. The sailors, brave souls as they were, cried out in horror. The sky erupted in light and sound.

"We're done for- we're done for!" A man shouted hysterically, as he staggered along the deck. A huge wave broke over the ship, swallowing the sailor like an enormous sea creature.

Arthur tried to struggle forward, but Vikram's grip tightened around his shoulder. "There's nothing you can do for them, Captain!" He shouted over the gales. "We must ride this storm out...or-" He trailed off, and suddenly his eyes on Arthur's were cold, and calculating.

They stood in a far corner of the forecastle deck, and as Arthur glanced down, he noticed just how close they had come to the edge. The sea swirled in a mass of darkness below him, and waves rose in watery towers on either side of the ship, threatening to swallow it whole.

Arthur's back was against the railing now. He tried to step forward, but Vikram's grip on his shoulder held him back, paralyzing his ability to move.

"Vikram, what-?" He gasped, panic arising in his throat.

His first mate's expression was hard, and unfeeling as he steadily pushed his captain towards death.

"Why are you doing this?!" Arthur managed, struggling to free himself from the iron grip of the muscular Vikram. Arthur's hands reached for something to grasp hold of, but found only air. Nothing but the ship's rain-slick railing was keeping him from plummeting to a watery grave.

Vikram's deep amber eyes glittered with a greedy menace that Arthur had never seen before.

"Tell me where it is!" He hissed, clutching a fistful of shirt, and lifting Arthur easily up so his feet dangled perilously over the side of the ship. "Where have you hidden that bloody treasure map, _Captain_? I simply must know."

Arthur blinked in shock, rain sliding down his face like a thousand tears. Suddenly the shouts of men and the ferocity of the storm seemed trivial compared to the paper in his pocket.

Regret crashed over him. He should have left the precious parchment in the cabin- or better yet, back where it belonged, in a secret cave deep in the jungle.

But the allure of treasure had been strong... What pirate could resist it?

_Apparently not Vikram. _

"I- I don't know what you're-"

Vikram's face turned to stone, "Tell me." He whispered in Arthur's ear. "_Tell me_, or I will obliterate everything and every_one_ you love, starting with that hideous witch of a wife of yours."

Arthur struggled to maintain a calm expression, although his hands tightened into hard, furious fists. _No one_ insulted Hope.

He shoved Vikram back with all his might, and delivered a powerful uppercut to the first mate's treacherous jaw.

Vikram staggered back, surprise and shock etched in his tan features, and Arthur let out a breath of triumph. He flexed his muscles, and charged.

At the last possible second, Vikram turned toreador and leaped sideways, just as the ship groaned, and titled sharply to one side. Arthur, propelled by momentum, teetered and slid along the sloping deck. He waved his arms in a desperate attempt to regain balance, but it was too late.

Crash! He slammed into the railing, toppling over it head-first.

For one heart stopping moment, he was staring right into the mouth of death, then everything came to a jerking stop. Arthur nearly sobbed in relief. His right leg had, as he fell, caught in the rigging. He twisted around, and grabbed the rope ladder, freeing his foot. Arthur hung, legs dangling perilously above the sea, while blinding rain battered him, and fierce winds fought to tear his weak grip from the ropes.

Vikram, recovered from his shock at Arthur's attack, strolled over with a cold, satisfied smirk, and knelt beside the captain, enjoying his panicked struggle.

Already Arthur's fingers were beginning to ache in protest against the full, straining, weight of his body. He tried to clamber up the rigging, but in the effort, his feet slipped dangerously, and one finger lost its grip.

"Help me!" He shouted, hoping someone would come to his aid, but the storm took his voice, and tossed it away. There was no one coming, he realized. No one but Vikram was able to hear his cries; the men were all too busy trying to save themselves.

"Do you give up?" Vikram asked.

Arthur's fingers were rubbing raw against the rough rope, but the man's cool, mocking words sent anger shooting through his system, giving him renewed strength.

"I don't play games with those who would murder me!"

Finding a hidden reserve of strength, he managed to let go of the rope with a hand, and slowly pull himself up, rung by rung.

_I can't let him have my half of the map_. He thought desperately, even as he climbed towards the first mate.

When Arthur had first found the treasure map, his wife, Hope, had convinced him that carrying all of it would be dangerous if it fell into the wrong hands. Instead, he had memorized the second half's contents which contained the treasure's location, and destroyed them. Later, the contents were etched in a locket which Hope wore around her neck. If Vikram ever traced Arthur's half back to her...

'Oomph!'

Arthur's reverie was gone when a rough hand grabbed his water-logged shirt, and dragged him up, and over the side of the ship.

Without warning, Vikram began rummaging in Arthur's pockets, tossing out his pipe, and compass. Then his hand closed around the locket containing a painting of Hope. Vikram's eyes glittered, as he pressed the latch, and the frame flew open, revealing Hope's lovely face.

"A pity her husband had to die." Vikram said, his tone sinister. "The poor dear will be all alone...but not for long. She's a sturdy looking wench, I'm sure she'd do well as a maid in my household."

Normally mild mannered, Arthur felt a surge of pure fury course through his body. He growled, and lunged at the evil man, determined to choke the very life from his throat.

That's when the cold metal of a knife savagely plunged into his gut. Face impassive,Vikram pulled the weapon out of his captain, with a sickening squelch.

Arthur gasped, and staggered back in shock, clutching his stomach. Blood poured between his numb fingers, and mixed with the rain, collecting in sickening pools at his feet.

His enemy circled him, knife in hand, like a snake preparing to strike down its victim.

"You...cheated." Arthur said, shock quieting his voice. He tried to lunge forward again, but his mind was dimming around the corners, and everything seemed to be turning in strange, dizzying circles overhead.

Vikram fingered the locket in his hand- any minute now he would discover the hidden compartment holding the map.

"I'm a bloody pirate, remember? At any rate, I'm certainly more fit than you to rule these waters." Vikram's thumb caught on the locket's cleverly concealed latch. His smile was gleeful, like a child opening a gift.

"Ah ha."

"No!" Arthur summoned up a last ounce of strength from the recesses of his brain, and knocked the locket out of Vikram's grasp.

With a grace that belied the storm raging around it, the locket flew through the air. It could have landed anywhere- at this point, Arthur would be glad if it fell into the sea below, at least then he could be certain that there was no way Vikram would be able to use it against him.

Arthur breathed a premature sigh of relief that quickly morphed into a hacking, blood- choked cough.

Vikram leaped over obstacles, and sprinted desperately across the deck, trying to catch the precious locket before it was lost to the ocean.

Breathing was becoming more and more difficult for Arthur, it blocked out all thoughts, sending the mighty pirate captain thudding to his knees.

Through a disorienting haze caused by blood-loss, his mind managed to fixate on a single thought.

_Air_.

Each beat of his pulse sent more precious liquid shooting from his wound. Panic rose inside Arthur- already he could feel his lungs filling, choking off his life supply of oxygen.

His mind flashed to his wife, all alone with a child on the way- he couldn't die, not like this. Arthur envisioned his triumphant return home, as he had so many times:

He would be smiling, and lugging a bag of treasure over his shoulder. Hope would spot him, and run full speed until he swept her, laughing and crying, into his arms.

"_Well, it's about time you came home._" She'd whisper through her tears. "_Oh, Arthur I've missed you so much!" _

A salty tear ran down Arthur's own cheek. Was he never to see his loving wife again? Never to feel such a wondrous sense of joy as her held her tight in his arms? Never to see his children grow up?

"What have we here?" Vikram cackled, dangling the retrieved locket above Arthur, who had collapsed to the ground, too weak to maintain a sitting position.

"The captain fancies taking a nap while his sailors fight to ride out this storm?" He shook his head in mock admonishment. "Tsk, tsk. Bad form, Sir. Very bad form."

Arthur knew he was dying now- there was no way around it- his body was failing him, and there was nothing he could do to stop it. Vikram looped the chain of the locket around his neck, his expression that of smug confidence.

"A pity that the captain has to poor crew will be lost without a leader." He snapped his fingers as if a great thought had suddenly come upon him. "They'll have to have a new captain- and the first mate would be a logical choice, don't you think? Why, that's _me_!"

Arthur's eyes widened in horror. "N-no." He gurgled, struggling to stand.

Vikram laughed, and kicked at his fallen enemy. "You were wrong, Captain...we _were_ playing a game, and I've just won."

Arthur flopped onto the deck, face turned toward the torrent above.

Once more his wife's face wobbled in his vision, but now he saw her desperately trying to fight off Vikram, while a child wailed in the background.

_I'm so sorry, Hope...So sorry..._

And then, with one final breath, Arthur Trent's brave spirit left his body, and he was gone.

* * *

_Vikram Kabra's estate one week later: _

"Quit cooing over the boy, Isabel, I can feel a headache coming on from that incessant noise."

Isabel's amber eyes flashed with obvious annoyance. "Don't you dare tell me what to do, with my own child, Vikram, I am not your servant."

Vikram smiled coldly, his eyes void of feeling. "You are my wife, Dearest. Remember who pays for your room and board." The threat hung menacingly in the air, circling the room like a shadowy spirit.

Isabel- not concerned in the least- pouted, and turned her attention to the tiny infant in her arms.

"Who's father is a terrible, evil man?" She cooed to the little boy, ignoring Vikram's rising temper, entirely. "Your father, that's who."

Vikram balled his hands into fists. "I'm going out." He said crisply, unable to withstand the hot, stuffy room, and his wife's disrespect a moment longer.

At sea, he was one of the most feared pirates ever to rule the caribbean- second only to Blackbeard himself- but back on land, his spoilt wife insolently mocked his power.

Sometimes, he wondered why he hadn't killed Isabel off already- but after all, _she_ had just given him his first son. Besides, she was the most gorgeous, treacherous, spirited woman he had ever laid eyes on. It was rumored amongst the townspeople that she had mer blood flowing in her veins. It wasn't every day you found a wife like that.

He turned to leave, and nearly tripped over a shriveled ancient-looking crone who stood in his path.

Shocked, he muttered a curse, and backed up. Behind him, he heard his wife gasp, and knew that she too, had noticed the strange old hag standing casually in the middle of their bedroom.

"Who are you? How did you get in here?" Isabel demanded loudly, pulling her infant in closer to her breast.

The old woman licked her cracked lips, and surveyed the startled group with her one beady blue eye.

"Might I sit down?" She croaked, swaying slightly as she leaned heavily against her walking stick.

"Go away, you old troll!" Isabel threw a pillow at the woman. It landed with a soft thud at the crone's withered feet. With careful deliberation, she stooped and snatched it up in her gnarled hook of a hand.

"Thank you for your hospitality." She said wryly, easing herself down on top of the pillow.

Vikram cleared his throat. "Who are you, Hag? Our doors and windows are locked- how did you get past the servants?"

The wrinkles in her baggy face deepened in a frown. "I'm your elder- in my day that earned a body a little respect. As to how I got here, why should you care? I'm here now, that's where your concern should lay."

Isabel laughed, a light tinkling sound. "Are you implying that we should be afraid of an old crone_? _Are you going to attack us with your little stick, hmm?"

The old woman smiled, revealing a wide row of teeth in various stages of decay. "I wouldn't laugh, if I were you."

Isabel shuddered. "Thank goodness I'm not you- what a horrible thing that would be."

Vikram glared, first at his wife, then at the odd, withered stranger who had had the audacity to invade his house.

"I am a powerful man, Woman. I give you exactly two minutes to explain your conduct, before I lose my patience." His hand went meaningfully to his belt where a knife in sheath hung menacingly.

The stranger waved a hand, dismissively. "Oh, go ahead and kill me, I don't mind. But before you do, know this."

Her eye began glowing, a pulsing shade of blue that was so bright the Kabras were forced to look away.

"Witch!" Isabel cried, holding tightly to the now squalling infant in her arms. "Kill the demon!"

"You are so foolish." The old woman said, shaking her head as she made her way slowly towards the bed on which Isabel lay.

"Get away from me!" Isabel commanded. She pulled a gun from under her pillow, and brandished it, sinisterly.

The stranger waved her hands, and Isabel's body froze mid-movement, her amber eyes remaining open, in shock.

Vikram drew a sharp breath, and reached for the knife in his belt.

The woman ignored him, and placed her trembling hands on the baby's tiny head, encircling his body in radiating, blue light. The boy's eyes fluttered and shut; he lay still, as if already claimed by death.

Vikram let out a bellow of rage, and threw his knife at the crone. The deadly weapon glinted in mid-flight as it shot through the air, heading directly for her glowing head.

Vikram allowed a small smile to cross his face; the witch-or whoever she was-should have known better than to oppose a Kabra. Now, that ignorance would be the end of her.

The knife reached its target, but instead of the body toppling over, the knife bounced off the woman as if there was an invisible wall surrounding her, and dropped to the ground with a thunk.

He staggered back in dismay. Fear curled around the large pirate like tendrils of smoke. _What was this evil magic? _

"You are a murderer." The women droned, pointing an accusatory finger at his heart. "You killed your enemy in cold blood, and for that, punishment must be paid."

"Oh, please," Vikram scoffed, once again regaining his Kabra bravado. "How can you accuse me for that? I'm a pirate, I've killed many men. You cannot punish a man for acting on his natural instincts."

While they were speaking, he inched stealthily forwards. _Perhaps, if he strangled the hag, his son would be released from her power. _

She shook her head, sadly. "You are right- it is too late for you. Your heart cannot be softened towards anyone, Vikram...not at this time, anyway."

Vikram frowned in confusion and irritation. "How do you know my-?"

"Your name? I know everyone's names. Names are special, they hold our very essence. Without them, we can never truly be ourselves." She sighed, "I don't like doing this, but..."

Her eyes closed, and she began to speak in a multitude of voices. "The son must carry the punishment meant for the father. I, Genna of Halfcrest Mountain, remove this child's name from your memory, and give it to the firstborn child of your enemy. He shall never be the boy you knew until the evil you committed has been reconciled."

And with that, the woman vanished, faster than Vikram could blink.

Behind him, Isabel heaved a huge breath like she had just emerged from underwater. "What happened, Vikram?"

He turned, and saw the wild look in his wife's amber eyes. She was scared, possibly for the first time in her life. She stared down at the child in her lap. "It's alright, _ that terrible hag is gone. She can't bother you anymore."

Isabel frowned, and tried again to form the boy's name, to no avail.

Vikram felt a panicked lump form in his throat. He tried to speak the name of the young Kabra, but the words twisted in his mouth, and already the knowledge seemed to be slipping away.

"Why can't I remember our son's name?" Isabel demanded, sharply, voicing the question arising in them both. Then her eyes grew wide as realization caught up to her. "It was that witch of a woman! She cursed us!"

Vikram's eyes focused on the squalling babe, but he could not place a name with its tiny face.

The knowledge was simply gone.


	2. Chapter 2

_**~Enjoy!**_

_**At the docks of Port Royal, 16 years later...**_

Windswept curls bounced merrily up and down Amy Trent's back, as she raced down the dock after her twin.

"Dan, slow down!" She panted. Her heavy dress was hindering her pace, and not for the first time in her life, did she wish that she could wear the much simpler clothes of a boy.

With a frustrated humph, she heaved her heavy skirts up and over her shoulder like a sack of flour, and tried her best to resist the urge to kick off the high heel, constricting shoes she was forced to wear.

Her aunt, the distinguished Lady Beatrice, would throw a fit if she saw her young niece behaving in such an immodest fashion, but none of that mattered to Amy now. She was catching up with Dan.

Their feet pounded against the planks in perfect rhythm, sending a startled flock of gulls soaring into the gray sky.

"Dan, stop!" Amy stretched out a hand, and grabbed the back of her brother's shirt, and yanked him to a halt. "Give me the letter!"

She reached out her hand to snatch at it, but Dan avoided her efforts, holding the missive overhead, just out of her reach.

Amy's heart pounded in giddy anticipation- her mother's lovely cursive handwriting ran delicately along the page. _Oh, please,_ Amy prayed. _Let it say that we are to return home! _

Hope had insisted that it was better for the children to go stay with their Great Aunt Beatrice until the War of the Spanish Succession had reached its end.

'_But _why, _Mother?'_ Amy had protested when Hope had quietly told the children to pack their bags. '_Why must we leave you? Can't you come with us? There's no reason for you to stay here!' _

Hope's green eyes were filled with a deep pain that Amy had never before, seen, '_I'll tell you when you're older, Darling. It's for the best that you leave me, understand? Don't worry, everything will be... fine. Your Great Aunt will take good care of you." _

Dan had rolled his eyes. '_Yes, I'm sure she'll take great care to point out how beneath her we are.' _

Hope sighed, and Amy noted how tired and frail her mother looked. Her once red curls were now streaked with drab gray, and she seemed thinner and paler than she used to.

'_I'm sorry, but there are no other options,' _She said_. 'For now, whatever hard feelings you have must be put aside. I want you to promise to obey her, just as you would me, do you understand? This won't last long, at any rate; we'll be back together again in no time...'' _

Eight weary years later the war had ended, but the Trent children were still not home where they belonged. As of recently, Amy- although she would never admit it aloud- had begun to lose hope of ever seeing her mother again. Only the occasional missive from Hope, renewed her spirits.

Dan grunted, and tried to twist away from his sister's grip, effectively jolting her mind into the present.

"Don't ask me to give you the letter, Amy," He pleaded. "Please!" His voice caught on the last word, but Amy was too excited to take note of this. Despite the heavy gown hindering her movements, she suddenly made a fantastic leap into the air, and triumphantly snatched the letter from her brother's hand.

At first, her eyes eagerly scanned the page, but with each progressing line, her flushed cheeks grew paler and paler, and a hand flew to her face. "No," She whispered in shock. "No, it's not true!"

Tears streamed unchecked down her cheeks. With a trembling hand, she tried to wipe them away, but they kept coming, rolling down her chin, and splashing onto her delicate dress.

The letter was from their mother alright- the first half, anyway. Enclosed at the bottom, was a note written by their grandmother, Grace.

_Dear Amy and Dan, _

_You are probably wondering why this letter is only halfway complete. A few months back, your mother, my dear daughter, fell ill. I tried to persuade her to write and tell you, but she insisted that it was just a little cold, and you know how stubborn she is. She didn't want to worry you, my Darlings. Tragically, the fever grew worse, but still she said she was fine, and foolishly, I believed her. _

_I...I never thought I would ever say this, and even as I write this, my heart feels as though it's breaking. Please excuse these tear stains- I can't keep them back. _

_Your mother...Hope, is no longer with us. She passed away in the night. It still doesn't seem possible- I keep expecting her to walk through the door..._

_After she died, I discovered a half-finished letter she had been writing to you before she grew ill, and I thought you would like to have it._

_I'm so sorry... _

_Grace._

Amy's entire body shook with sobs. Her breath, already constricted by the tightly laced corset encircling her waist, came in short, hysterical gasps. Her mother..._dead?_

_No!_

Dan put a comforting arm around his sister, "Amy..."

She let loose, sobbing wildly against her brother's shoulder while he hugged her back- for once, not acting like he was disgusted by the contact.

Amy knew that, although Dan was trying his hardest to seem brave and indifferent, he had a heart of mush. It was all her twin could do not to burst into tears like a girl, right there on the docks.

Amy drew a shuddering breath, and forced herself to breathe slowly and evenly. "Let's go home." She croaked. Yet even as the words left her mouth, Amy knew she was guilty of a lie.

For the Trents, there was no home left.


	3. Chapter 3

**(A N) **

**Here you are, my lovelies! **

**~Enjoy **

Outside Port Royal, Aunt Beatrice's house, five months later...

"You did _what?_"

Horror washed over Amy, as she gasped out the words. Her mind raced in circles as she tried to comprehend her aunt's terrible words.

Aunt Beatrice, nonplussed by her great niece's outburst, wiped delicately at the corners of her large mouth with a napkin. "Goodness, are you hard of hearing, child?" She exclaimed, faking shock, "I _said,_ I found you a husband- quite a difficult task to be sure, seeing as you have no dowery, and well..." Her eyes scanned Amy's body with distaste, focusing meaningfully on her meager chest. "You are...lacking in choice areas. Please be a dear and pass the bread."

Amy's cheeks burned as the blood pulsed beneath her skin. White knuckled fists clenched tightly between the rich folds of her gray dress as she forced herself to maintain some semblance of calm.

"What is his name?" She croaked out, weakly.

"Sir. Nicholas of Derbyshire." Aunt Beatrice said, promptly.

An image of the obese, silver haired man- who had, on occasion, visited the family- puckering his shriveled lips at her, invaded Amy's mind. "Sir Nicholas? I c-can't marry him, he's old enough to be my grandfather!" She exploded, not able to contain her fevered emotions a moment longer. Her head pounded alongside her heart, creating a perfect synchronization of pain and adrenaline.

Her aunt's brown eyes glinted with sickening greed, "Yes, but he's _wealthy." _

Amy slumped defeatedly, back in her chair. Her stomach churned with boiling nausea.

The words were spoken with such cheer, like marrying some disgusting man five times Amy's age was the most wonderful thing in the world.

"You should be grateful," Aunt Beatrice continued. "Many young girls would kill to be in your position. With the war over, rich single men are indeed a scarce breed."

Many young girls would kill _themselves_ if they were in my position, Amy thought, numbly.

She wished, with all her might, that Dan was here to protect her against Aunt Beatrice's ludicracy.

Unfortunately for Amy, he had found a paying job, not long after their mother's death, working as a messenger carrying letters back and forth across the country and wouldn't be back for several months.

"He's to arrive by ship, tomorrow afternoon, and then as soon as we get your dress finished, we'll be ready for a wedding." Her aunt said, reaching a plump hand across the table in search of jam. "Why, just think, with money like his, your bridal gown alone will cost more than my carriage!"

"Tomorrow? You can't be serious, Aunt!" Amy tried, trying hard to keep desperation from lacing her tones. "I'm too young- seventeen last week! Surely, you cannot expect me to marry someone I hardly know, just for his money..."

She trailed off, her cheeks draining of color. Now that the words came tumbling out, it sounded _precisely _like something her aunt would do.

"No." Amy whispered. A lump rose in her throat as she envisioned herself in the withered old arms of Sir Nicholas. Her mother's heart locket- which Amy wore on a chain around her neck- felt suddenly cold and heavy against her fevered skin.

Aunt Beatrice's falsely cheerful expression hardened, and she stood to her feet, having finished eating at last. "You are under the false assumption that you have a choice in this matter," She said, coldly. You will marry Sir Nicholas within the fortnight; nothing you can say will change that."

* * *

"I've got to get out of here," Amy whispered to herself, stuffing a few articles of clothing into a knapsack. Angry tears ran down her cheeks, effectively blurring her vision, and as if on cue, her nose began to drip. She ran a hasty hand across her face, and went back to the task at hand.

_But...how _does _one go about running away?_ The inevitable question struck the Trent, head on, like a strong, unyielding wind. Amy slowly set down the dreaded corset she had been about to shove into her sack, effectively halting her rhythm of fevered activity.

Where would she, an unmarried orphan girl, even be able to go? Who would hire her? Where could she even live?

Amy frowned, and fingered the hard whale-bone corset in her hand.

Her hesitant fingers tugged at her thick auburn locks. She envisioned them short like Dan's, perhaps tied back with a strip of leather...like _boy's_ hair.

A spark ignited in the recesses of her brain; the answer to the problem was so simple.

She dumped the contents of the half-full knapsack upside down, and ran into Dan's deserted room.

Aunt Beatrice's initial plan when Dan had left to become a messenger was to burn his old clothing, but Amy had hidden the garments away. She was a sentimental person, never wanting to let go of things. They held memories of her brother, and when Hope had died, tragically followed only months later by Grace, Dan was all Amy had left in the way of real family.

Amy hurried back to her room, arms laden with Dan's old clothes. As she packed, her eyes fell on her sewing bag, and the few books she had managed to smuggle into the house.

Aunt Beatrice thought it preposterous that a girl be allowed to read, and would have thrown a fit if she knew that her niece had indulged in the 'evil pastime'. Amy could almost hear her aunt's shrill voice, _-"The female gender was not meant to indulge in sinful practises such as _reading_, leave that to foolhardy men!"_

Amy frowned.

She didn't believe one word of her aunt's wild statements. She loved the adventures hidden between the pages of books. They stirred something deep inside of her, kindling a fiery hunger like she had never before experienced.

As she dove deeper into stories, the dull mundane-ness of everyday life faded away, and imagination, with all its vivid possibilities, created a tempting escape from reality.

Amy took firm hold of the scissors, and her jaw tightened in determination. _If a woman is never to have adventures...then so be it... _

Steeling her resolve, Amy pulled the ribbon that held her hair and as curls cascaded down her back she sliced resolutely at them with the scissors.

A single auburn curl fluttered limply to the floor; she froze in awed horror, staring at the

severed lock. It almost hurt to see it lying there, like a part of her was dead.

Amy shook her head; _don't think like that, it's just hair. _She picked up speed, rashly snipping away at her mane of curls, trying not to wince as they dropped all around her.

Ten minutes later...

Amy knotted a leather strip securely about her short boyish ponytail. She peered at her reflection in a small mirror, searching for any sign of her former identity, but Amy Trent had virtually vanished. In her place stood a big-eyed, timid, albeit decidedly cleaner-faced

version of Dan.

Rapid footsteps echoed downstairs; panic erupted in Amy's brain; _someone was coming!_ Quickly she scrambled to gather up her belongings and ran for the open window. An ancient tree curled itself around the house, and Amy wrapped a leg- now blessedly free from heavy skirts- 'round a sturdy limb. As she began her perilous climb down the tree, her head whipped back anxiously to her bedroom door. The footsteps were coming up the stairs now, any minute she would be discovered.

The limbs ended abruptly, leaving Amy's legs dangling far above the ground. _Should she risk a jump_? Amy tried to move, but found she couldn't budge, it was if her muscles had refused to work properly. The ground beneath her seemed to spin, and her fingers burned from clutching wildly to the rough bark. _It's too far, _Amy thought. _I'll fall. This whole venture was foolish; I should just go back inside. Marrying Sir. Nicholas isn't the worst thing I could be doing...right?_

A shrill voice filled the air, "Amy Trent, where _are_ you?"

_JUMP AMY! JUMP!_ A tiny voice screamed in Amy's head, urging her into action.

Amy dropped her sack to the ground, and with a deep shaky breath, shoved off.

**(A N) **

**Me again! Please review. I worked really hard on this, and I feel inspired when the people reading my work actually review. :)**


	4. Chapter 4

(A N)

~Enjoy!

The Caribbean was uneasy that day. High up in the crow's nest of a formidable looking ship, a young man's sharp eyes searched the waves for land, as well as heavily laden merchant's vessels ripe for the plundering.

The salt-filled wind ruffled his dark hair, momentarily obscuring his view of the sea.

A small dot- a tiny blip on the radar- appeared along the swell of waves. The teen squinted, straining to make out the obstruction. _Was it land?_

Yes, it was coming closer now; he could just make out the small hump-like mass that was Port Royal.

The boy allowed a small smile to creep onto his tanned face. A port meant a rest from the tiring life on board ship, fresh supplies and men, and huge ships just waiting to be plundered. Port Royal was a virtual paradise for the pirate crew of The Jade Serpent.

A large, familiar hand clamped down on his shoulder. "Beautiful, ain't it?"

The boy winced at 'ain't', -contrary to most pirates, he had been taught proper speech and listening to it butchered was painful- but didn't bother to turn around. "I suppose." He said curtly, his precise British accent prominent.

A huge boy with a body that resembled that of an ox stepped into view and grinned, exhibiting a row of square yellow teeth. "Can't wait to shore and get my hands on a good keg of beer," the mammoth said, leaning heavily over the meager railing of the crow's nest. "Might as well spend my gold where it counts."

The boy beside him sniffed, and his comment was laced with contempt."_Beer? _Only a fool would spend gold on beer."

The giant's smile vanished at the single word. "Are you suggesting I'm a fool?" Hamilton's palms curled into powerful fists.

The boy laughed harshly. "Go ahead and punch me. I know you want to, I can see it in your eyes." He took a step forward and stood with arms outspread, mocking his opponent, daring him to deliver a deadly blow.

Hamilton growled, and turned away before he could succumb to the tempting offer. The Captain's son was baiting him as he always did; any attempt on Ham's part to harm the boy would result in certain death. Instead of taking the provided rigging, the muscular sailor simply jumped down to the deck below, a move that would shatter the shin bones of any normal man, and stalked moodily away.

As the aforementioned crossed the rocking deck to the hold below, the boy's taut muscles relaxed. Hamilton's gray eyes had been full of unadulterated malice. The sailor was an annoyance at the best of times, but he was still a killer. He could easily go berserk and twist the Kabra's neck. Taunting the giant was a dangerous game for the young man to be playing.

He climbed down the rigging, and landed lightly on the salty deck. All around him, the powerful, sweat drenched bodies of the crew strained in perfect rhythm with the ship itself.

Captain Kabra stood positioned at the helm of the ship, the head of it all. One cunning amber eye peered through a telescope, while the other was trained on the boy himself. Their eyes locked before the younger Kabra had time to turn away again. Vikram motioned his son forward, and with reluctance, the young man crossed to his father's side.

"Father."

There was no love in the sentiment. That single word expressed by the boy was spoken with the curt politeness of a stranger.

Vikram's mouth was a grim slash- his faithful expression for eighteen years now, ever since the moment of his son's birth. "We will be arriving at the port soon," he said.

His son nodded, "The men are quite anxious to set foot on land. Apparently they deem kegs of cheap beer, covet-worthy." He didn't voice his own land-bound plans to sleep in a real bed rather than a hammock, and enjoy a luxurious dinner in the fine company of ladies.

A harsh snort-like laugh escaped Vikram. "Be glad you will not have to endure their plight; your place is not on land, but here, and here you will stay."

A long silence hung in the air.

"Pardon?" The young man coughed out at last, trying to hide the shocked anger that brought sudden heat to his cheeks. _Was his father suggesting that after two long months at sea, he was to stay on board the ship while the rest of the men were out enjoying themselves?_

"You will remain on-board this vessel," Vikram said, ignoring his son's building wrath. "For the entirety of the stop,"

"But-"

"Do not question me, Boy!" Vikram's voice rose, "I am your father; you must obey my wishes." He turned quickly from his son, an air of finality in his movements, and ducked into the Captain's cabin.

The young man spat forcefully on the wooden deck in the direction of his father's retreating form. It was a disgusting gesture, but he was past caring. Fury festered inside at the meaningless injustice. Vikram could have no earthly reason for preventing him from enjoying the pleasures of land along with the rest of the men, it was just another way his father was choosing to remind his son that he was nothing- less than nothing. A child without an identity, without a name. A failure from birth.

The younger Kabra glanced down at the spot where his puddle of spittle had collected, and paused in surprise. Next to the phlegmmy wad, lay a silver chain, curled around a heart shaped locket the size of a small egg. He frowned, and stooped to the ground. _Where had it come from? _

The precious spoils collected by the pirate crew were all hidden away, either below deck, or in small chests or bags in the mens' quarters...why was this piece lying forgotten?

His eyes did a quick scan of his surroundings- no one seemed to have yet noticed the unusual object. He scooped up the locket, and pried it open with a fingernail. Inside was a tiny painting of a beautiful woman.

He frowned. Her green eyes were haunting and surprisingly detailed for a mere painting; they seemed to stare at him, not in a condemning way, but as one who knew his faults and chose to see past them.

He picked absentmindedly at the edge of the artwork with his thumb, prying the corner up from the framework.

Something caught on his nail, something that proved to be far thicker than the mere backing of a portrait. The young man's furrowed brow deepened as he stood to his feet. _What on earth?_

With a careful hesitancy, he pulled the yellowed paper -which had been stuffed behind the frame- from its prison. The paper was ancient and folded and creased almost beyond recognition, but several years of living at sea had trained him to expertly read maps. His eyes took on a greedy light as he examined the treasure map- for a treasure map it was.

"_X marks the spot._" He murmured.

Behind him, loud boots pounded across the sea drenched planks. Heartbeat rapid, the young man started and quickly stuffed the odd locket and paper into his pocket before anyone could take notice of it.

The footsteps paused, and for a long minute the boy didn't dare turn around. Warmth seemed to radiate from his thigh; surely the sailor would notice the unusual bump in the fabric! But no. The owner of the boots turned, and shuffled back in the opposite direction. The young man let out a deep breath of relief, as his fingers absentmindedly traced an 'x' on the heart in his pocket.

Perhaps an honest man would try to find the owner of the locket- or at least alert a person of authority of the finding, but to the boy, honesty was for those too stupid to know how to lie.

As he walked the ship, his mind was filled with thoughts of treasure. He had not gotten a good look at the map, but even so, he could see that it was incomplete. There was more to it, another half of information that the locket had not contained.

His eyes fixed on the rapidly growing stretch of land that was their destination. Somewhere, the information he needed was out there, just waiting to be found...His jaw tightened in determination.

_Find it, he would..._

_(A N)_

_Hey again! I'm in a hyper happy mood, so I thought I'd add a few questions to my author's note because I'd love to get to know my readers. Feel free to answer them. In fact, DO answer them and I'll give you a cookie (::) and a unicorn. (Okay, scratch the unicorn, but I will update faster. LOL.) _

_1) What do you think will happen next in this story?_

_2) What was your favorite chapter?_

_3) How many mirrors do you have in your house? (xD) _

_4) What is your favorite season?_

_5) Where do you live? O_O Jk, don't answer that last question. xD_

*Waves* See you all soon!

~GG


	5. Chapter 5

**~Enjoy**

Amy was lost.

Or was she? Could someone be considered lost when they didn't know where they were going in the first place?

A bitterly cold wind tugged at Amy, and for the thousandth time in the past few hours she longed for the thick warmth of a coat.

When she had first escaped from her aunt's home, Amy had felt as if everyone's eyes were on her, watching her every move; as if they knew that she was a runaway and would gladly turn her in if they had the chance. Now, several frigid hours later, all Amy worried about was freezing to death. She had no cloak to buffer the wind or cold- nothing to eat, and absolutely no plan of action.

Her numb fingers reached automatically for the heart-shaped locket around her neck; it was a nervous habit of hers to reach for it when things seemed especially grim. The locket had been her mother's, and although it did not open properly, Amy wore it always- never even removing it at night.

Aunt Beatrice had diagnosed her niece's refusal to take off the jewelry as 'odd', saying that it was wrong to cling to the belongings of a dead woman, but Amy felt strangely safe when wearing it; as if the locket contained a small part of her mother's loving, protective spirit.

Two burly men covered in tattoos brushed rudely past Amy in the narrow alley way, causing her to stumble and fall to the ground.

"Hey!" She cried, but they had already melted into the crowd. Her eyes filled with sudden tears as she staggered to her feet and examined her trembling and badly scraped palms. Blood mixed with the dirty wounds, and the sting was nasty. A tiny shuddering sob escaped Amy's exhausted body.

"A lad, crying?" A quiet voice said.

Amy whipped around at the sound of the unfamiliar words. _Lad?_ A tall dark -haired man stepped out of the shadows; his dark unblinking gaze flicked over her body, then settled on her face. He came closer.

Prickles rose on the back of Amy's neck, and she stepped back instinctively.

"E-excuse me, Sir?" she stuttered, her voice coming out too high.

The man spat on the ground, but instead of seeming crude, he made the action seem oddly graceful. "If you were a cabin boy aboard my ship, you would be whipped for such cowardly behavior," he said, his eyes cold and expressionless.

_Oh, of course...He thought her a __boy__. _Amy hastily wiped away the tears with a scratchy sleeve, and stood awkwardly, not knowing whether to run, or stand her ground. "Well, I'm not on-board your ship," she said stupidly.

The man grinned smoothly, "Where is your family, young man? Surely, you should not be allowed to roam the streets at this late hour. 'Tis dangerous."

Amy felt as if spiders were crawling up the back of her neck at the stranger's soft, sinister words.

She took a step back, then two. "I'd best be going."

The man cocked his head, "Leaving so soon?"

Amy turned to leave, but a huge hand encircled her arm, preventing her escape. "You know, you look very familiar." He roughly grabbed her face and turned it back and forth, examining every angle. Amy's heart pounded wildly as she shied away from his touch. "Who are you?" She whimpered. "G-get away from me!"

Her locket, freed from the confines of her shirt, swung like a pendulum about her neck. The man's amber eyes widened in awe when he noticed the dangling heart. "Where did you get this?" He demanded, holding the locket up to the fading light.

Amy, seeing the man's momentary distraction, jerked away from him and ran.

"Grab him!" He shouted. Amy's legs pumped up and down at top speed, but she forced them to go faster. The man, whomever he was, frightened her more than anyone else in the world; she had to get away.

The two tattooed men who had tripped her emerged from the shadows as if they had been listening for the man's orders, and threw a sack around Amy's struggling, twisting body.

"Let go of me!" She shrieked wildly through the burlap. The air inside the sack smelled rankly of fish; Amy felt like a caught fish herself, trapped and unable to breathe.

Doomed.

Her surroundings changed, as she was hoisted unceremoniously upwards onto one of the mens' shoulders, and then jostled up and down as he began to run.

"Let me out! Please!"

The cry rang from the squirming sack, again, and again, but not one passerby paid heed. No one cared about the teen who was being kidnapped before their eyes- or if they did, they were smart enough not to mess with the unfortunate prisoner's three muscular captors.

Panicked arose in Amy's soul as harsh realization struck her; there was no hero to rescue her...

She was all alone.

**(A N) **

**Dun dun dunnnn. xD**

**Yes, I know this was a short chapter. Sorry, folks!**

**Please review! It's not hard, and I seriously squeal when I get reviews. x) **


	6. Chapter 6

~Enjoy

The air was filled with thick fog, obscuring the view of the nearby dock, and nearly everything else.

The younger Kabra squinted into the murky fog, watching for his father's return. His fingers played with the hilt of his knife, and his jaw was tight. Suppressed anger curled in the pit of his stomach like a deadly serpent.

"He's coming," Ham's husky hushed voice said behind him, breaking the heavy silence that had descended upon the-empty deck.

The boy's fingers froze on the knife hilt, his heart doubled its beat, and he strained to see through the fog, his amber eyes narrowing to twin slits.

"Where-" He began, then snapped his mouth shut. Three dark, ghostly mist wrapped figures appeared out of the white. Their footsteps crunched on the pebble strewn ground, then pounded dully on the wooden dock as they approached the ship. One of the figures had a wriggling sack hoisted over one shoulder. The boy frowned. The last thing they needed on this journey was another idiotic cabin boy, for that was certainly what the sack contained. Kidnapping young orphan beggars off the streets and forcing them to become part of the crew was common enough. Vikram Kabra was known for losing his temper, disposing of cabin boys, and acquiring another unlucky lad at each port he docked at.

The boy grimaced as the protesting, wiggling sack was dumped at his feet. He could hear whimpers and sniffles coming from inside, and his stomach churned in disgust.

"Welcome to the crew," Ham muttered, stepping past the younger Kabra and kneeling to untie the sack.

Vikram's eyes fixed on his son's. "Don't let this one out of your sight," he ordered, his eyes darting to the bag, then back up to his son's face.

The teen's expression was hard. "I am no nursery maid, Father," he hissed through clenched teeth.

Vikram's nostrils flared in anger. "Do not cross me. This boy just may lead us to-" he trailed off, as if suddenly remembering with whom he was speaking. He strode quickly away without another word, his boots pounding the wooden planks, leaving his son to attend to the unfortunate cabin boy.

The bag whimpered again, and the younger Kabra let out a groan of pure frustration. He was not in the mood to wipe away the tears of a clingy child.

Hamilton stepped away from the now open sack, and turned to face the captain's son. He nodded, silently wishing him luck, then strode down the deck, vanished into the fog.

* * *

Fresh air washed over Amy as she crawled out of the oppressive sack, filling her lungs with the sweet oxygen they so craved. She brushed the short bangs out of her face, and moaned slightly. Tears stuck in her throat, and her teeth chattered so hard she nearly bit her tongue. She tossed the sack aside, shuddering as she tried to get her bearings.

"Kindly stop gasping like a dying fish on the deck of my ship," a hard voice said above her.

Amy let out a small yelp, and scooted back in fear; head whipping in every direction as she took in her surroundings. Panic filled her as she realized that the ground beneath her was moving, rocking slightly, Almost as if propelled by waves...

"Oh, no." she whispered, eyes widening. She scurried to her feet, and ran to the edge of the ship- for a ship it was-, fully intending to jump over the side- the water was fairly shallow in docking areas- but when she looked down, she discovered to her dismay that the water was several leagues deeper and Port Royal was rapidly fading into the horizon.

"No!" Amy pounded the railing again and again with her fist, desperation filling her voice.

The voice behind her sighed in exasperation. "Quit your little display this instant, or I shall have you flogged."

Amy froze and turned slowly around, locking eyes with a dark haired boy with calculating amber eyes. "W-who _are_ you?" She whispered.

* * *

'_Who are you?'_

The innocent question was like a punch to the stomach, knocking the strength from the younger Kabra and leaving him momentarily weak and defenseless.

He did not know the answer, and that stung more than anything. There was no answer. He didn't even had a name, thanks to a witch's curse at his birth.

He glared down at the gangly child at his feet, who was staring at him with accusing green eyes...oddly..._familiar_ green eyes.

He peered at the prisoner, "Do I know you?" he asked, his voice sounding oddly curious.

The child shuddered. "I would hope not, you horrid beast."

The younger Kabra raised an eyebrow to hide his shock at the words. _Had the lad __really __just insulted him? _

* * *

_Did I just insult him?_

Amy felt like hiding from the teen's gaze. Now that she saw him up close, she noticed just how handsome he really was; her heart beat faster, not from fear, but exhilaration. His hair, his eyes, his ears...she took it all in. He was gorgeous. She had thought the shopkeeper's son -who lived two doors down from her aunt's house- was handsome, but this man standing in front of her was like an angel in sailor's clothing.

And yet...he was part of the crew who had kidnapped her. She kept her frown plastered in place, and tried to hold his gaze, challenging him.

"Look." The young man's voice was annoyed. Amy reddened in spite of herself, and ducked her head down. It felt as if his voice was causing her stomach to churn with odd fluttering feelings. She mentally shook herself. Silly, she scolded herself. You're probably just seasick.

"I want you to get a few things straight," he said, clasping his hands behind his back. "While we are aboard this ship, I am not going to be your friend. I am not going to look after you, or in anyway coddle you... Not that you'll last long at any rate." He scanned her tall, skinny figure with a curled lip. "You must obey me at all times, just as you would the captain. Any disobedience will result in pain. To be a pirate is to be a man, and at the moment, you are neither."

Amy folded her arms. His handsome aura was quickly fading in her mind with every word that came out of his mouth. "Where do I sleep?" she asked.

His annoyed expression relaxed a bit when he saw that she wasn't about to start crying again. His eyes darted around the ship, then came back to rest on her face.

"Any place you can find to rest your head."

Amy nodded- she expected as much. "Alright...and...what's your name?"

The teen's eyes flashed with sudden, violent anger and he turned on his heel and abruptly strode away without answering her query.

Amy stared after him in shock. _What on earth was the matter with him? What had she said to cause him to react so? _

"You know, you were lucky he didn't go so far as to sentence you to bread and water. He does not tolerate that, Lad."

Amy's heart pounded in confusion and fear, and she started slightly at the unfamiliar voice, "W-what?"

A giant of a man, loomed over her, staring down with a semblance of sympathy adorning his huge features.

"You shouldn't have asked his _name_."

Amy hugged herself tightly to block out the cold. Her thoughts raced, but she kept her gaze fixed on the man's massive chest, not daring to go so far as to meet his gaze again. "W-why not?"

The man sighed, as if he was thoroughly tired of explaining the matter. "No one knows the tale exactly, but many a sailor has been punished for speakin' of the captain's son's...er...affliction. You see...he does not have one- a name, I mean."

Amy stared at the man in shock. "No..._name_?" She had never heard of such a thing. _Surely everyone had a name._ _How could someone have no name?_ Sympathy invaded her earlier anger at the young man's brusque mannerism, and her heart went out to him. "He must feel so... lost."

The mammoth gave her a hearty thump across the shoulder blades, a motion that sent Amy staggering forward, all the breath knocked from her lungs.

"Aye, he doesn't say so, but I imagine he does." he sighed slightly. "Ah well, 'tis none of your concern. Best not to speak of it if ye are 'tall wanting to stay on the captain's good side." He stuck out a hand in greeting. "The name's Hamilton."

Amy shook it gingerly- the man's powerful hands could easily crush hers in his massive grip if he were not careful. She let out a quiet breath of relief when he released her without injury.

Hamilton stood facing her in expectant silence for a long moment before Amy realized that while he had offered his name, she had neglected to give him hers.

"Oh! My name is..." She searched her mind for an acceptable boy's name, and after a quiet moment of struggle, landed on her father's. "Arthur." She managed to whisper, feeling a slight sting as the familiar word left her mouth. Her voice strengthened, and she tried again, more clearly. "My name is Arthur."

Hamilton grinned broadly, not noticing her tears. "Alright Arty. Now that you've been breached, you'd best be getting to work. No one can afford to be lazy aboard this ship. Shore leave is over, Son. School is back in session."

**(A N)**

***Winces***

**I know, I know, _I know_, this is very late. I have been suffering from a long bout of writer's block, and while I had already written this chapter up, I found that the beginning was missing for some unknown reason. o_O So I had to rewrite it, and then I went on a little editing spree, and found a lot of things that bugged me that I needed to rewrite as well.**

**So...here it FINALLY is. xD**

**Question time:**

**1) I must ask...who here is attempting NaNoWriMo this year? (If you don't know what this stands for, than look it up! It's super awesome, man. I'm really excited for it!) **

**2) What's your favorite scent in the world? ( Mine's probably the world after a rain, or that spicy Christmas-y smell in Michael's during the holidays. xD)**

**3) Do you have braces? :) **

**4) What did you think of this chapter? xD**

_**Note: I will most likely not be updating at ALL in November. Why? Because I'm participating in NaNoWriMo, and I most likely will be pooped by the time I finish writing each day, and will have no inspiration or time to type up another chapter. I apologize for this, folks. I love you all! Please review. :) **_


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